Vendetta Stone (32 page)

Jackson shifted slightly, talking to the jurors. “Deer love salt and real hunters hate it,” he said. “My dad cussed the two hunters and told them to get outta there before he called the game warden. They left without the deer. I’d never seen my dad that mad. Walking to the truck, he explained his actions toward the hunters.”

Jackson’s voice dropped an octave, mimicking his late father’s inflections.

“ ‘That ain’t sport, son; that’s killin.’ That’s what he said and I never forgot it or how easy it was to lure an animal out of hiding with a baited field. I just made myself the murderer’s next target. I believed if I did or said something outrageous to infuriate him, he would come after me. Then either I or the police would stop him.”

The attorney started to ask another question, but Jackson interrupted.

“A minute ago, you asked whether I intended to carry out my vengeance. I’d like to answer that. Talking about my dad reminded me of something,” he said, folding his hands. “Those two guys I mentioned? There’s a difference between hunting and killing. I’m a hunter.”

Jackson paused, waiting for the final question. “And do you feel any remorse how it all played out?”

A deep, whooshing sigh and the curled shoulders told the true weight he bore. “Every day. For Angela, for Sarah, for Herb. Not for their murderer.”

“Thank you. That’s all, your honor.”

District attorney Trulowicz fired off plenty of questions, but just one mattered. It was the question so many of us asked since the first day, one that until then went unanswered. Why?

“Angela was pregnant when she di
ed.” Jack’s voice cracked as he tried to stare down the unflinching district attorney. “I think she wanted to tell me the night before she died, but I asked if she could wait until I got back home from a business trip.”

His whole body slumped as he spoke.

“She never got the chance to tell me, and I’ll always be haunted by the fact that I denied her the opportunity to share her joyous news with me. I’ll always feel guilt that I should have protected my wife and my child.”

The courtroom made a collective gasping noise at the revelation, and the muted lawyers summed up their cases.

Every heart in the courtroom ached for Jackson, and the case went to the jury at six p.m.

After a working dinner, the jurors discussed the finer points of the laws, reviewed evidence, and called it a night. At nine the next morning, they met, took a poll, and returned to the courtroom at ten a.m.

At ten fifteen, Jackson walked out of the courtroom a free man.

The hunt was over. Justice had been served.

And I’m getting back to work. I’ve got a book to write.

AFTERWORD

A PERSONAL NOTE FROM JACKSON STONE

I wasn’t sure I wanted to participate in this project when Gerry Hilliard approached me
after the trial, feeling it was a chapter of my life that I was ready to . . . never truly close, but at least put some distance behind me. I wanted to focus on the future,
and not dwell on Angela’s senseless murder.

But I put off a decision for a week
, and prayed on the right thing to do. Ultimately, it became clear that I should give Gerry my input and support. He seemed determined to write this book, so this way you will get the unvarnished truth, at least from my perspective. Gerry did not surrender editorial control, and we agreed to disagree over some of his conclusions and observations.

I wish this book didn’t need to be written, that Angela and I could have grown old together, but it wasn’t meant to be. Even as I move forward, not a day goes by that I don’t think of her. That will never change, but I have much to accomplish in this world before I am with Angela again. Gerry agreed to contribute a portion from the sale of each book to the foundation I started in Angela’s memory. There are many worthwhile victim’s rights organizations out there; please consider supporting one.

May God bless Angela’s spirit . . . and you.

—Jackson Stone
,
August 3, 2012

This book would not have been possible wit
hout Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, in my life. He has opened so many doors to me and led me down a path that resulted in this book. Many thanks to my wife Bennie Wood, my late father Tom Sr., and family including Brian Chumney, Tracey Carroll, Jennifer and Michael Darling, Ray Hylton, Stephanie Lowe, Kristy Oldham, Larry Riley and Cheri Sanders. I appreciate editor Kathy Rhodes, cover designer Katherine Campbell and photographer Nora Canfield. Several former colleagues at
The Tennessean
offered critical feedback, including John Seigenthaler, the former editor and publisher and now chairman emeritus, as well as Sandy Campbell, Nick Sullivan and Larry Woody. Information, inspiration or support came from former Middle Tennessee State mass communications professor Jerry Hilliard; authors Jaden Terrell and Clay Stafford; the Killer Nashville and Sisters In Crime organizations; my Franklin critique group (Sandy Ward Bell, Suzanne Brunson, John Davis, Micki Fuhrman, Ruth Lebovitz and Michael J. Tucker); Nashville Writers Meetup members, including Kathleen Cosgrove, Lily Wilson and Robert Mangeot; Steve Brodsky, Michelle Honick, Rachel Joiner, Woody Murray, Carolyn Sullivan; East Nashville police officer Chris Jones; Dr. Mike Shelton, my pastor at Bellevue Baptist Church; psychologist Dr. Charles Ihrig; the late Stan Allen, an attorney, boxer, manager and friend; and late
Tennessean
columnists John Bibb and Jerry Thompson. I hope I’ve made you all proud.

—Tom
Wood,
August 2013